Calvin. A tiny, cross-eyed 4-week old kitten that I adopted at a cat show in Spartanburg, SC a mere 13 years ago. He hit 25 lbs at his prime, but I got him down to svelte 19.2 lbs so he wouldn't become diabetic. He was a sultan among cats = washed by his 2 female companions and fawned over by all that met him. Emory, at the time, my future daughter-in-law, would bring friends over just to meet him. He loved her in return, starting to purr when he'd see her. He'd give me that look he had, would yell at me, sounding like a peacock, demanding his food, loved to rub his face against you while snagging his tooth on your leg, and he loved to have his belly rubbed. I miss him most at night. He had a ritual of playing in the toilet - splashing the water ever so loudly like a kid! then watching the waves he created while he licked his wet paw, resting on his other elbow. Then, he would plod over to the bed to lay on his pillow, always on my left side. Calvin would rest the bulk of his body on that pillow, but lay his head down on my chest, purring so loudly I wondered if I'd ever get to sleep. Of course, I did. Then, in the morning, he lay down on my right side so I could rub his fur up and down and give him big hugs - it was literally like holding on to a big stuffed animal. I have had so many pets, of which at least a kajillion were cats. But, every once in a while, one comes along with such a personality that it must be experienced to know it because there are no words with which to describe its essence, its spirit. But, thank goodness, one's spirit does not die and I like to think that, in spirit, he is still with me. I love you Calvin, and will miss you terribly. (June ?, 1998 - October 16,2011)
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